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So we're on day whatever of #IvyIllness2011. Since my last post I got WAY WORSE and then better. Worse because my nose went insane and my coughing got so bad I nearly threw up (but I didn't, because I don't do that). I decided against going to the doctor and instead requested Mucinex DM, aka my personal miracle drug, which so far has worked amazingly. I still feel stuffy, but I don't have the runny nose or urge to cough, so: victory.
My mother bought me Kleenex Cool Touch tissues, which have aloe and mineral oil and all kinds of shit in them and actually tell you to keep them below 75 degrees. MY TISSUES HAVE A TEMPERATURE PREFERENCE. They are fabulous and my horribly red under-nose area is already starting to look better.
I almost feel human again! I wrote a little bit (gasp) and I even cut out a skirt out of real non-felt fabric for Frankie. I'm not sure if I'm going to bother hemming it even if I did draw a seam allowance (omg look at me almost knowing what I'm talking about, I am ~hot stuff~). I'm dreading putting on the snaps but let's hope it works! Then all I have to do is find a top since Frankie comes with a dress and I can't just stick a clashing skirt on underneath it. It has a paisley pattern and is burgundy with some blue in it- my mother bought it to make a cushion for an old chair out of, which she's already done.
The conversation (a week or so back) went something like this:
Me: " ARE YOU DOING ANYTHING WITH THIS" indicating small patch of light blue fabric in a drawer
My Mother: "No. You should put this in there, too." hands me red paisley whatever fabric
Me: "ARE YOU FINISHED WITH IT"
My Mother: "Yes."
Me: "OKAY THANK YOU" scurries away, hunched over and looking shifty, carrying an armful of fabric scraps
My Mother: doesn't ask questions because she doesn't give a shit
The small font and lack of punctuation is to indicate my extreme shiftiness during all of this. My mother doesn't know I have new dolls or that I'm making clothes for them, and she hasn't asked what I've been doing with the sewing kit. She doesn't really care. It's not that my mother is uninterested in my life, it's just that she usually assumes that if I have something to tell her, I will.
But I think it's also that she doesn't find the small doings of my life that interesting. I live kind of like a house pet, in that I scurry around doing things and no one pays attention. I wander from room to room eating or internetting or sewing up doll skirts by myself, which is basically the way I've always lived since I'm an only child, and my mother's just not going to feign curiosity in whatever squirrelesque thing I'm doing today. My father hasn't asked either but he's usually a bit clueless. And anyway I can't tell if my mother would offer me tips or be annoyed that I'm 23 and jobless and playing with dolls.
Probably both, actually.
In more adult interests my baseball team needs to stop losing rtfn plz and ty.
Also it's getting cooler outside and suddenly my room is cold and I have an extra blanket and I DON'T WANT THIIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSS.
-3:16 AM
My mother bought me Kleenex Cool Touch tissues, which have aloe and mineral oil and all kinds of shit in them and actually tell you to keep them below 75 degrees. MY TISSUES HAVE A TEMPERATURE PREFERENCE. They are fabulous and my horribly red under-nose area is already starting to look better.
I almost feel human again! I wrote a little bit (gasp) and I even cut out a skirt out of real non-felt fabric for Frankie. I'm not sure if I'm going to bother hemming it even if I did draw a seam allowance (omg look at me almost knowing what I'm talking about, I am ~hot stuff~). I'm dreading putting on the snaps but let's hope it works! Then all I have to do is find a top since Frankie comes with a dress and I can't just stick a clashing skirt on underneath it. It has a paisley pattern and is burgundy with some blue in it- my mother bought it to make a cushion for an old chair out of, which she's already done.
The conversation (a week or so back) went something like this:
Me: " ARE YOU DOING ANYTHING WITH THIS" indicating small patch of light blue fabric in a drawer
My Mother: "No. You should put this in there, too." hands me red paisley whatever fabric
Me: "ARE YOU FINISHED WITH IT"
My Mother: "Yes."
Me: "OKAY THANK YOU" scurries away, hunched over and looking shifty, carrying an armful of fabric scraps
My Mother: doesn't ask questions because she doesn't give a shit
The small font and lack of punctuation is to indicate my extreme shiftiness during all of this. My mother doesn't know I have new dolls or that I'm making clothes for them, and she hasn't asked what I've been doing with the sewing kit. She doesn't really care. It's not that my mother is uninterested in my life, it's just that she usually assumes that if I have something to tell her, I will.
But I think it's also that she doesn't find the small doings of my life that interesting. I live kind of like a house pet, in that I scurry around doing things and no one pays attention. I wander from room to room eating or internetting or sewing up doll skirts by myself, which is basically the way I've always lived since I'm an only child, and my mother's just not going to feign curiosity in whatever squirrelesque thing I'm doing today. My father hasn't asked either but he's usually a bit clueless. And anyway I can't tell if my mother would offer me tips or be annoyed that I'm 23 and jobless and playing with dolls.
Probably both, actually.
In more adult interests my baseball team needs to stop losing rtfn plz and ty.
Also it's getting cooler outside and suddenly my room is cold and I have an extra blanket and I DON'T WANT THIIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSS.
-3:16 AM
